by Marinelli, Carol; Hayward, Jennifer; Stephens, Susan; Anderson, Natalie
There was the old courthouse, where Bastiano had told her Maria’s will had been read.
It really was gorgeous, with an old hotel that had seen better days and a street lined with shops and cafés.
And it was exciting too because there were a couple of famous faces behind dark glasses in the café that Sophie went into, no doubt on day release from the Old Convent.
The owner greeted her warmly. ‘Passing through?’
‘No, I’m staying at the Old Convent.’ Sophie smiled.
‘Ah, a guest of Signor Conti.’ The owner smiled. ‘Then we need to find you a nice seat.’
He called to a waitress and she was guided to a table near the back. ‘For you,’ the owner said, and he brought her a large glass of hot blackcurrant without Sophie even looking at the menu. ‘It is our house special and good for you,’ he told her. ‘And don’t worry, no one will trouble you here, we’ll keep an eye open.’
It took a moment or two to register that they thought she must be a client.
Bastiano really had done wonders, Sophie thought, for, unlike home, the town was a buzzing and happy place to be.
Sophie headed over to the church that had caught her eye when she had first passed through town.
It must be here that he had fought with Raul, Sophie guessed, and she slipped around the back to the graveyard and read the inscriptions on the tombstones.
Gino Di Savo.
Raul’s father, Sophie knew, and saw that he had died some ten years ago.
Next to him lay Maria, and Sophie wondered about the mind of a woman who would seduce a seventeen-year-old.
And then she turned and Sophie found what she was looking for. There she found out Bastiano’s mother’s name.
Philomena Conti.
Sophie felt her nostrils tighten when she saw the simple grave.
And then she saw the date of her death and Sophie did not even try to hold back the tears.
Philomena had died on the day that Bastiano was born.
Had Karmela not let on that it was his birthday yesterday, she might never have known. She understood the man a little more, and he was kinder than even she had given him credit for—even in their rows about their baby he had not scared her by telling her that his mother had died giving birth.
It was a sobering thought indeed.
And it was time, Sophie knew, to stop fighting.
* * *
She did have something to wear.
One thing.
Sophie stood in the little silver knickers she had purchased on the day Rosa had persuaded her try on the dress.
The over-dress she could not even get over her bust, but the silver-grey underdress slid on.
It clung to every curve, yet somehow it revealed little, for it fell to just on her knee and there was barely even a glimpse of cleavage.
It was incredibly seductive, though.
For the first time in months Sophie added heels and though she had very little make-up to work with, she melted her mascara under a hot tap in order to reach the last dregs and used a pen to dig out some lipstick.
Soon she saw his car approaching and Sophie was suddenly nervous. She felt overdressed for Casta and the small restaurants there.
Hell, she felt overdressed for five o’clock in Rome.
‘Sophie!’ Bastiano called out.
He wondered if she’d plead a headache to avoid dinner, but instead she stepped out confidently.
Bastiano had thought her like the sun on the day they’d met.
Now a silver star emerged before the sky had even darkened.
Her dress clung tightly to the baby they had made and her legs seemed too fragile.
‘Where are we going?’ Sophie asked when he bypassed the car.
‘We’re walking.’
Along the cobbled path on very high heels there was little choice but to take his arm.
It was nice to walk.
‘Am I overdressed?’ she asked as they approached the convent.
‘Perhaps,’ he said, ‘but only because I prefer you in nothing.’
It was nice to flirt, but as they headed towards the restaurant nerves caught up.
‘Will there be a lot of people?’
‘I have twenty guests in residence,’ Bastiano said as they walked in. ‘And on my instruction, all are dining in their rooms tonight.’
Oh, it was heaven.
The tables were all candlelit and each candle had been lit for her. Even the stone walls were softened with thick white pillar candles but Bastiano steered her to the balcony. It had been dressed with care and a single table had been set up just for them.
‘It is cool,’ Bastiano said, ‘even with heaters…’
‘You’re not eight months pregnant,’ Sophie countered as she took a seat. ‘I’ve forgotten what it is to be cool.’
‘There’s no wine list,’ Bastiano said as he ordered bitter lemon for them both. ‘My regular guests have no restraint.’
He made her laugh.
And then he made her want to cry.
‘I owe you an apology,’ Bastiano said, and he was suddenly serious. ‘I was wrong to accuse you of taking my ring. I overreacted that morning. It was my mother’s ring, it meant everything to me, and I had only just got it back from Raul.’
‘From Raul?’ Sophie frowned. ‘Why did he have it?’
‘I gave it to Maria.’ He felt uncomfortable admitting it. ‘She was wearing it when she died and all her jewellery was left to Raul. I don’t think he even knew it was mine.’
‘How did he find out?’
‘When he asked for Lydia’s address I said I would only give it to him if he returned the ring.’
Now she better understood his reaction that morning.
It must have been hell to get it back, only to lose it.
‘It was Inga who put the ring in your uniform.’
‘Inga?’ Sophie frowned. ‘Did she confess?’
‘Please,’ Bastiano sneered, ‘she has no conscience, she was still blaming you as they escorted her out.’
And he told her how Inga had shouted and sworn as she’d been walked out, remembering Sophie’s quiet dignity in the same situation.
‘I had Dario and Benita go over the CCTV footage. Inga must have…’ He hesitated. He didn’t want to embarrass her because he had realised that Inga would have heard them making love so he softened it a touch. ‘She would have seen your uniform on the floor.’
It was cool outside; despite the heaters there was a chill from the ocean but the air suddenly seemed to blow warm on her skin as she recalled that morning and met his eyes.
‘Do you think she heard us?’
‘Who cares?’
‘I do,’ Sophie said, completely appalled. ‘Though I shouldn’t—she sleeps with guests.’
‘That’s shocking.’ Bastiano pretended to shudder and then laughed. ‘Thank God for the Ingas of the world.’
‘You’re terrible, Bastiano!’
‘Oh, indeed I was.’
And instead of being cross, Sophie smiled and then she laughed because her name had been cleared, and it was the best feeling in the world.
Or amongst the best of feelings, because he was looking at her in that way again, a way that made her feel warm, a way that made the tiredness disappear and her body feel sensual and alive.
A waiter came out with a loaf of mafalda, which they tore and dipped in oil.
‘The Contis and the Di Savos should have focused on making oil rather than feuding over wine,’ Bastiano told her as they dipped their bread. ‘They would have made their fortune.’
‘The Contis and the Di Savos need to stop feuding, period,’ Sophie said, referring to him and Raul.
He was tired of it.
‘Lydia is expecting too,’ Bastiano told her.
‘Your almost wife.’
She looked at him and knew that unrequited love was such a curse.
‘The bread is fantastic,’ Sophie said, to change the subject. She wondered if this would be her life, moving from topics to avoid hurt. Discussing the weather and the food on the table, rather than the hole he had shot through her heart.
‘You can’t get better than here,’ Bastiano responded.
‘Not true,’ Sophie said. ‘The chef at the Grande Lucia made the best…’
‘Can I tell you something?’ Bastiano said, and leant closer. She met his eyes and she knew she was in the path of a seducer, for his mouth had that smile and his eyes made her burn, and instead of fighting him Sophie let herself be played, for there were worse things she could think of than being seduced by Bastiano.
‘Tell me,’ she said, and tore another strip of bread.
‘I stole the chef from the Grande Lucia. He is the one cooking for us tonight.’
‘You stole Alim’s chef?’ She started to laugh.
A real laugh, because so skilled was she that at times she forgot his game.
‘Of course. When I withdrew my offer I had my PA contact your chef with an offer he could not refuse. Now, instead of feeding the hordes in Rome, he has a maximum guest list of twenty-two to cater for. Staff too…’
‘Your staff get meals?’
‘Of course.’
‘Five-star meals?’ Sophie asked, as in front of her was placed a dish of busciate, Sicily’s finest pasta dressed in a light almond sauce.
‘Everyone deserves to be looked after,’ Bastiano said. ‘Not just the guests. That is why my retreats work so well.’
‘It’s amazing,’ Sophie said. ‘You should be very proud.’
‘I am,’ Bastiano said. ‘People accuse me of bulldozing treasures but that is because I don’t allow the interiors to be photographed—I don’t need the publicity. The retreats I offer are for the guests to enjoy.’
And tonight that pleasure was exclusive to Sophie.
Tiny lights started to dance as dusk fell and she found out what he had meant about not being able to reschedule the sun, for it had turned to fire and was mirrored in the ocean.
‘Dance?’ Bastiano said as soft music came on.
It had been months since they had been in each other’s arms, and so much had changed, yet they melded together like they had never been apart. Sophie wrapped her arms around his neck, swaying in his arms.
He looked right into her eyes and then she closed her eyes to his kiss.
She had forgotten the taste of perfection.
How with that mouth he made magic.
How the heat from his palm in the small of her back made her fingers press into the back of his head. And how the feel of him aroused her and could make her forget her cares.
She felt feverish, being held by him, dancing with him, being seduced by him.
His kiss was perfection.
It made her crave him and it made her feel weak.
‘Why do you resist us?’ Bastiano asked.
In his arms, she didn’t know the answer to that.
‘Come on,’ he told her. ‘I’m taking you home.’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THEY WALKED IN the dark but the moon was bright and the stars lit the night. They held hands as if they had been lovers for life.
‘I love it here,’ she said, because it was far safer than saying ‘I love you’. She kept things light, determined not to reveal the ache in her heart. ‘I went to one of the cafés in town and they thought I was one of your clients,’ Sophie admitted, and she started to laugh. ‘I’m trying to work out what they thought I was in rehab for.’
‘They would have thought you were the partner of an errant actor,’ Bastiano said. ‘We sometimes have wives and girlfriends take a little holiday while their husbands straighten out.’
‘Really?’ she asked, as they reached the door and he gave her a light kiss, but one that made her toes curl.
‘Really.’
‘Who?’
‘I can’t tell you that,’ Bastiano said.
They were stood at the door and she could hear the waves, and she knew that this was the moment.
‘At least not until you marry me.’
Bastiano did it by the book.
Well, he didn’t go down on bended knee but he took out a black box and her throat was tight as he opened the clasp.
And there it was.
The proof that he did not love her.
Oh, the ring was stunning.
A diamond so huge that if she reached out and plucked a star from the sky it would surely sparkle just as brightly.
And in that moment she knew she would never matter to him the way she wanted to, because it wasn’t the ring that meant everything to him.
‘Isn’t there something missing here, Bastiano?’
He knew exactly what she was referring to.
‘Do you know why people think I’m such a bastard?’ he said, and when she didn’t answer he told her. ‘Because I don’t say things that other people want to hear.’
It was a terrible proposal because a big salty tear fell to her cheek. ‘Sometimes it’s kinder to lie,’ she said.
‘Not in this.’
If they were going to be honest, she would tell him how much this hurt. ‘You gave Maria your mother’s ring.’
‘And look how that ended up!’ He did not understand that she would choose his mother’s cursed ring over the diamond he had selected with such care. ‘I threw away the old ring,’ Bastiano told her. ‘It was bad news.’
And he was so cold, Sophie thought, that he could dispose of the thing most valuable to his heart.
Where the hell would that leave her and their child? But then he told her something, something honest and true.
‘I will do everything to make our marriage work. I will read every book so that I can be the best father I can possibly be…’ Yet still he saw tears. ‘Sophie…’ He told her the real truth. ‘Believe me, you don’t want my love.’
With a sob, she brushed past him and rushed straight to her room.
Believe me, she wanted to shout out, I do.
Instead, she stood with heart hammering and a body still alive from his touch and his kiss, loathing this one-sided love while knowing it was time to step up.
Of course they would marry.
Bastiano would be a wonderful father and even without his love it could be a wonderful marriage too, for she knew he cared for her.
He had proved it today, for even when arguing he looked out for her—not once had he hinted that his mother had died giving birth.
Bastiano was kinder and fairer than he knew and she knew she loved him.
And there was desire.
Such desire.
So she was stuck with the virile billionaire.
Boo-hoo!
Even with a heart breaking, just the thought of him made her smile. She wanted a slice of that dark, guarded heart, even if it could never be hers to own entirely. Sophie was starting to understand that there was a side to Bastiano she would never be allowed to know.
That privilege had been Maria’s and she was through trying to compete with a ghost.
All she could be was herself.
And she would make her own rules.
She kicked off her shoes because they hurt, but it meant that her approach to his room was silent.
Bastiano lay on the bed with his hands behind his head, just as she had first found him, only he was dressed and sulking now.
‘If we marry,’ Sop
hie said, and Bastiano looked over to where she stood at the door, ‘it is to be here. If our child is going to be raised in Casta then I want to be married in the church. It is more than a formality to me.’
‘Sophie…’
‘Let me finish. If we are to marry then there is to be compromise. We can fly out straight after the service. I know it will take a couple of weeks to arrange…’
‘I’ll sort it,’ Bastiano said.
He would.
‘You just need a dress and to turn up.’
They would be married in the next forty-eight hours if it meant they could get the hell out of Casta and to the shiny equipment and slick obstetrician he had planned.
‘I’ll move out tomorrow,’ he told her.
‘Move out?’ Sophie gave a laugh. ‘It’s a bit late for that.’
‘In that case, come here.’
And there was a burn in his eyes that made her both excited and nervous at the same time. ‘Should we wait for the wedding?’
‘Do I look like Luigi?’ he asked.
‘No.’ Sophie smiled and came over.
She sat down on the bed, as she had on the morning they had met. His hand found hers and then he felt the ripe swell of her stomach.
He could feel the kicks their baby gave and it was both mind-blowing and then calming because while inside her their baby was safe.
‘I’m going to take such good care of you both.’
His voice was husky and thick with emotion and even if it wasn’t love she knew his words came from the heart.
‘I know that.’
Just as she had on that very first day, she leant over only this time she went straight for his mouth.
It was a deep and sensual kiss but an unhurried one, and he guided her so that she sat on his stomach.
‘Back again,’ he told her.
Only now there was a baby between them and a wedding to arrange. It was both the saddest and happiest night of her life.
Sophie could see the glint of her ring as she undid his tie and opened his shirt. She bent her head and they kissed long and slow, his hands sliding over the silver dress.
‘I found out I was pregnant on the day I got this,’ she said as he found the tiny, invisible zipper she had failed to spot when she had first tried it on.
